With A Little Help
by 80sarcades
Summary: Christmas Eve at Stalag 13 features a surprise 'visitor'.


_**With a little help…**_  
_**by 80sarcades**_

* * *

Just a bit of fun. Enjoy, and Merry Christmas!

Disclaimer: I own the box set of Hogan's Heroes. Nothing else.

* * *

Christmas Eve was less than jolly at Stalag 13.

The joy of the holiday season was largely confined to a single tree (puny) and handmade decorations (skimpy). The barbed wire, lousy food, and the ever present cold were all the company a Prisoner of War could expect for Christmas.

Naturally, the POW's took their frustrations out on each other. Tempers flared as friends fought each other over trivial details. The guards, meanwhile, were in a bad mood themselves. Like the prisoners, they wanted to be anywhere other than Stalag 13. Unfortunately, due to the luck of the draw, they were the ones pulling guard duty while their luckier comrades received home leave.

All of this led to a vicious circle: the prisoners would snipe at each other before taking their anger out on the guards in the form of insults and catcalls. The guards, in turn, conducted 'inspections' while the prisoners stood shivering in the cold compound. Then the cycle would begin yet again. The whole situation set Kommandant Klink to complaining about the lack of order in the camp.

There was only so much that Colonel Hogan could do. As a prisoner, he had only what authority the Germans allowed him to have. In practice, however, his force of personality was usually more than enough to either console or order the enlisted men in different situations. None of the men had any beef with Hogan; they knew that he tried to make the best of a bad situation for them.

However, his patience had limits. The thin walls that separated his quarters from the rest of Barracks Two allowed him to hear each and every word of the current 'disagreement.' This one was between LeBeau and Newkirk; he sighed heavily as their anger filled the room. Hogan shook his head before he rose up from his hard bunk. A small mirror mounted next to the window revealed the gray bags underneath his eyes; between the sabotage missions and the unrest in camp, it was a wonder that he had been getting any sleep at all.

_That's what they pay me the big bucks for, isn't it?_ he thought sourly.

LeBeau and Newkirk were still arguing as the Senior POW opened the door to his quarters and entered the main area of Barracks Two. He looked at the two enlisted men and shook his head in disgust.

_No matter what I do, it won't be enough._

_I can't threaten them with court-martial; they're already in prison. What I should do is take them behind the barracks and have them duke it out, but I won't do that either. They're liable to hurt themselves the way they're going. Besides, the Krauts can do without the entertainment._

_If I separate them, they'll just be at it again in an hour. So what do I do?_

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. To the surprise of the other men in the barracks Hogan walked to the front door, opened it, and stepped outside into the cold German night. As he walked into the compound, the sounds of arguing stopped to be replaced by desperate, worried hisses:

"Colonel, where are you going-"

"Sir, if the Krauts catch you-"

Hogan ignored them and calmly strolled to his usual spot for roll call. Suddenly, a spotlight lit the ground around him; a burst of machine gun fire from one of the guard towers spat into the dirt in front of his feet, sending a mix of snow and dust flying up into the freezing air. Despite the danger he faced, Hogan's right hand rose and touched the part of the jacket that carried a pocket version of the New Testament. His face was calm; his body seemingly unafraid of what might happen.

Just then, Sergeant Schultz came around the corner of the Kommandantur with several other guards. His face was as red from exertion as it was from the cold; small puffs of steam gasped from his lips.

"Colonel Hogan, what are you doing?" the Sergeant asked in a worried voice. He waved at the tower guards, signaling _I'm all right._ "You need to go back to your barracks," he ordered firmly.

Hogan nodded solemnly. "In just a minute, Schultz," he said, grinning. "You feel like singing?"

"Please, Colonel Hogan," Schultz whined. "You are going to get in so much trouble," he said, then changed his tune. "You're going to get _me_ in so much trouble…"

Just then, the American began to sing in a rich, beautiful voice:

_Silent Night, Holy Night_

_All is calm, all is bright_

_Round yon virgin mother and child…_

At that moment, Colonel Klink opened the door to the main office and began to yell his usual "REPOOOOOOORT!" The word, however, died on his lips as he took in the scene before him. He watched from his porch, stunned, as his Senior POW sang a Christmas carol. A familiar one too, even if it was in English.

The sound of Hogan's voice carried far into the still night air. One by one, barracks doors opened as prisoners listened to the impromptu performance. Even the off-duty Luftwaffe personnel inside their barracks came out to listen to the enemy officer.

For a long moment, no one said a word as Hogan finished the carol. The Colonel eyed his German counterpart before he smiled.

"A long time ago, I was a choir boy." He snorted in amusement, then went on. "It's been a long time since I sang anything. Figured this was as good a time as any."

Klink looked around the compound. Some of the prisoners were peacefully standing outside of their barracks. The guards, meanwhile, looked positively serene. For the first time in a long time, the Kommandant noticed that none of the men he could see, German or otherwise, had the usual sour expression on their faces. He fought down the impulse to order the men back to their barracks and the guards back to their work; there was just something so _wonderful_ about the moment.

Hogan looked at the Kommandant and raised an eyebrow. Although the question was unspoken, Klink understood it. It had been a long while since he had felt…well, happy. Music was always something to enjoy; even more so on Christmas Eve.

Warmth spread through his heart as he gave in to the simple impulse to smile.

"I was one too, before the Great War," Klink admitted, reliving old memories. "Perhaps we are not so different after all." He stood there in silence for a moment before finally nodding in satisfaction.

"You may carry on, Colonel Hogan," he announced.

As the American began to sing, Klink marveled at his voice; it was of a quality that he had not heard for quite a while. To find such a man in a prison camp…

_Well, it is true, isn't it?_, he thought._ War is strange. I remember the Christmas truce of 1914. One day we were fighting the enemy; the next day we were laughing with them._

As Colonel Hogan started the first verse again, Klink joined in. This time, German verbiage mixed in with English tones:

_Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,_

_Alles schläft; einsam wacht…_

Like a virus, the singing spread from man to man. The guards sang the German version; the prisoners sang in English or in other languages. The words themselves didn't matter; only the melody did. For one shining moment, there were no Germans or Allies, no barbed wire and machine guns.

They were free. It was a moment that was destined not to last.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE, KLINK?" a harsh and familiar voice screamed.

As one, the singing stopped. Both guards and prisoners watched as Major Hochstetter, the leader of the Hammelburg Gestapo, walked up to the Kommandantur with a furious look on his face.

"Ah, Major Hochstetter," Klink said, reverting to his usual cowardly pose. "How wonderful to see you!" he exclaimed, then frowned in puzzlement. "But how did you get in?" he asked, curious.

"Through the door, Klink," the German Major growled angrily, pointing at the unmanned side gate. "And perhaps you can explain why these prisoners are out of their barracks, you idiot!" he flared at the hapless Luftwaffe Colonel. He eyed the Kommandant, who stood petrified by sheer fear, before he shook his head in disgust.

"Why are your guards not putting them away, Klink?" he screamed, his voice rising in fury.

"But, Ma-Major," Klink whined, "It's Christmas Eve. Surely…"

Hochstetter abruptly turned to Schultz and the nearby guards. "Get the prisoners back into the barracks," he ordered, waving his hand.

Strangely, none of the guards moved to comply. It only served to infuriate Hochstetter more.

"We were only singing, Major…" Klink offered weakly.

"We do take requests if you have one, Major," Hogan cheerfully piped up, much to Klink's relief. "We're fresh out of _Deutschland über alles_ but I'm sure we could muddle through something.

"Oh, you take requests, hah?" Hochstetter said nastily as he strode up to the American Colonel. An evil grin crossed his face as he put his nose several inches from Hogan's own. "Perhaps I should make my own request, Hogan, and have you shot while trying to escape."

Hogan gazed at the shorter man with amusement, then shrugged as he wrinkled his nose. "You could at least put in a request for mouthwash, Major," he said offhandedly. "I hear it works wonders for the ladies…"

"BAH!" Hochstetter roared, then turned to face the shivering Kommandant and his guards. "You can do your singing on the Russian front," he yelled. "All of you-"

Just then there was a dull _thunk_ as something hit the Major on the top of his head. The German officer instantly went silent as he limply dropped to his knees before falling forward to the ground. His cover flew off and landed several feet away from his prostrate body. Meanwhile, the small object that had hit the Major landed at Hogan's feet. Silence returned to the compound as the American reached down to the ground to pick it up. A puzzled expression crossed his face as he curiously studied the item.

"What is it, Colonel Hogan?" Klink asked, breaking the stillness.

Colonel Hogan looked up at the clear star-filled sky in wonder before he looked over at the Kommandant. The light from the guard towers reflected the look of surprise on his face even as his arm rose up.

"Coal," he announced, holding up the black object in the air. He then leaned over and looked at Hochstetter's injured head before raising an eyebrow. "Looks like he has a nice lump, too…"

[fin/ende]

A/N: _Deutschlandlied _(Song of Germany) was actually written to promote German unification in the 19th century.

Music has a strange effect on war; German and British troops in North Africa, for example, usually stopped fighting long enough to hear _Lili Marleen_ on the radio_. _


End file.
